


Freight Car

by TeamDamon



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Author is not actually Satan despite the evidence to the contrary, Bucky needs a hug, I need a hug after writing this, M/M, More angst, PTSD, Sadness, Steve needs a hug too, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamDamon/pseuds/TeamDamon
Summary: "War, death, the next fight. It's all either of us know now. They made you this... perfect weapon. But that's not you. You're more than that.""... I finally feel like I am something," Steve confessed."You've always been something," Bucky assured him. "And I'm always gonna know that more than all of 'em."Goodbyes are never easy, but they're even harder when you don't know you're saying them.





	Freight Car

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely, wonderful friend mentioned that she was in a mood for 40's Stucky, and this happened as a result. I regret nothing.

It was a late, cold, and unforgiving night for Steve Rogers, but he was used to those by now. He was half asleep on the floor of the small tent, warm enough despite the paltry protection from the wintry winds, exhausted down to his bones but unable to sleep a wink once the groaning next to him began.

It wasn't every night. Sometimes Bucky was thankfully too tired to dream and would be out like a light the minute his head hit the ground, but other, worse nights, it was usually no more than an hour before the nightmares began. And they were never quiet, never fleeting, always loud and painful and grueling and they broke Steve's heart every time.

And tonight, just like every night they came, they started with a whimper, a quiet, pathetic sound that someone like Bucky would never make of their own accord, knowing anyone was listening. At first Steve would try to wake him up but it was no use, the dream would return the minute he fell back asleep. Bucky told him to just let him sleep and ignore him, don't bother trying to help, but of course Steve couldn't do that. He was physically unable to just lay there and do nothing, so he started scooting closer and wrapping his arm around his friend and holding him when the nights got bad.

He always backed off before Bucky could wake up first, and to his knowledge Bucky had no idea about it and he figured it was best that way. He didn't think Bucky would be embarrassed or otherwise object but he generally made it a point to avoid talking about the nightmares entirely. They bothered Bucky enough as it was, and Steve wasn't gonna make it worse and constantly try to talk about it.

And so, for the second or third time that week, Steve listened to the whimpers turn into pained, heart-wrenching groans that he couldn't stand to hear. It felt nothing short natural at this point, scooting over and shifting closer to Bucky, sliding an arm around his middle through his sleeping bag and pulling him close. The only thing weird about it was the fact that it was so easy to do, given their newly identical heights. If Steve had tried to do this before the serum, it would have been a lot less effective, he was pretty sure.

And that was the thing - it did work. It didn't make the nightmares go away but it helped Bucky quiet down and seemed to help him get through it, endure the worst and then return to a semi-peaceful sleep. And that was enough for Steve. He couldn't make the horrors go away, couldn't change what Bucky had endured and suffered. But if he could help ease the sting of it all, the invisible scars that Bucky would have forever, then he would do whatever it took.

And tonight, just like the others, Bucky relaxed in his arms and fell quiet. He stopped stirring as much, jagged breaths coming more evenly, more peacefully, and Steve let out a breath of relief and closed his eyes. It hit him again just how tired he was himself, and now that all was as well as it was gonna get, he let himself relax and soak in the familiarity that could only come from someone he'd known his entire life.

He smelled like dirt and earth and gun metal but he also smelled like home. Everything was a little less scary, less overwhelming with Bucky there next to him, irrational as it was. But it had always been that way, whether it was during an illness or the death of his parents or, now, war.

He slept so much easier like this, so much better and less fitful. He was damn near knocked out when Bucky's low, sleep-scratchy voice letting out a muffled curse brought him back to the surface.

Steve's eyes flew open, brain suddenly on alert again. Bucky's breathing was less even now, giving away that fact that he was very much awake now, and Steve wasn't sure what to do. He remained perfectly still, arm snug around Bucky's middle and breath falling on the back of his neck, neither of them saying a word or moving an inch for one long, not exactly uncomfortable moment. Steve wasn't nervous, just worried for his friend.

Bucky eventually grumbled and, not trying to move Steve's arm away or squirm out from underneath it, started kicking the sleeping bag off of himself. It wasn't the easiest task but he was getting there, prompting Steve to ask cautiously, "You okay, Buck?"

"Hot," he muttered, finally getting the damn thing off. It was most certainly not hot in the tent, in fact it was almost freezing, but waking up in a nightmare-induced sweat would make anyone think otherwise.

Not wanting to make it worse, Steve began to pull away, muttering, "I'll just..."

"No," Bucky quickly said, surprising him. "You can stay."

Steve didn't reply. He kept his arm where it was, now without the sleeping bag in the way, not feeling particularly tired anymore. He kept his eyes open, mind racing but unfocused as they laid there in silence. He thought he should say something and tried to think of the right words but nothing seemed to fit. He wanted to ask how Bucky was but he already knew that answer and didn't like it very much. He wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to help but he already knew there wasn't.

If their roles were reversed, he thought, Bucky would surely know what to do or say. He always did. But Steve... he wasn't like that. At least he sure as hell didn't think so.

"How long was I out?" Bucky asked quietly, breaking the silence.

"Not long," Steve replied gently. "Sorry. I was trying to help."

Bucky was quiet for awhile, long enough that Steve thought he might be drifting back to sleep. But he wasn't.

"S'not right."

Steve froze all over again, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing as his brain struggled to determine what wasn't right. Nothing made sense until he realized with a sudden jolt of panic that maybe holding him like that wasn't right, except - he _couldn't_ mean that because Steve wasn't -

"Nothing feels right, Steve," Bucky muttered, putting an end to Steve's irrational worry. "I don't.... _I'm_ not right."

"Hey," Steve said quietly, hopefully soothingly. "It's okay."

"No it's not," Bucky muttered miserably. "Scares the shit out of me."

Steve wasn't sure what he was talking about but he assumed it was the nightmares, what he'd endured at the hands of Hydra. "it's over now," he offered quietly.

"I don't think it's ever gonna end."

Those words and the broken, frightened way Bucky said them made Steve the way he had when he'd found him in that lab - horrified, sad, utterly useless. "Bucky..."

He turned over then, on his back so he could look at Steve. Steve kept his arm where it was, not really thinking about it as Bucky stared at him with an empty, broken gaze. "They changed you."

Steve's heart dropped a little. "No they didn't. I'm still -"

"No," Bucky insisted, grabbing at him and the jacket keeping him warm, yanking it until it opened. "This isn't _fucking_ you, Steve. It's not right."

Suddenly Steve understood. The war had changed both of them irrevocably, for better or worse. It had made them both into killers, damn good ones at that, taken pieces of their souls and twisted them into God only knew what, and he had no idea what they'd look like when it was all over.

Bucky didn't smile like he used to, wasn't bright and alive the way Steve remembered him. Steve was afraid to know what Bucky saw different in him, short of the obvious changes from the serum. But maybe those changes were horrible enough to Bucky - a physical manifestation of the weapon, the killer Steve now was.

War made killers of everyone, monsters of others. He hoped they wouldn't fall that far. He didn't think they would.

"I'm sorry," Steve finally replied, unsure of what else to say. Bucky's hand was still curled around the side of his jacket, eyes far away as he stared into the space between them.

Bucky shook his head, blinking once and muttering, "No, it's me. All this shit in my head. I'm a fucking mess."

"No you're not," Steve replied genuinely, truly believing that he wasn't.

"Yeah I am," Bucky argued, voice barely above a whisper. "You don't know, Steve."

"Then tell me."

Bucky shook his head. "I can't."

"Why?" Steve asked, breathless and confused. "Come on, Buck, it's _me_."

"I know," Bucky replied, voice growing unsteady. "That's why I can't."

Steve was at a loss. He had no idea what to do or say or how to fix this, all too aware that even if he had a ton of flowery, comforting words, they wouldn't really do a damn thing. Something was eating at him, something that he seemed ashamed of and afraid to give voice to, and if he was afraid to say it to Steve...

"I miss being home," Bucky confessed quietly, still not looking Steve in the eye. "Miss everything being normal. Us being normal."

And _God_ so did Steve. There was fulfillment in service, honor in duty and he believed in what he was doing with his whole heart and soul but... "Me too. We'll get there again."

Bucky gave a humorless chuckle and finally looked up. "We might not,"

"Yeah we will," Steve replied with all the conviction he could muster.

"You can't tell me that," Bucky grumbled. "Not after everything we've both seen."

"Well I'm not going home without you," Steve declared softly, as if that was the end of it and there were simply no other possible options. "So yeah, I can tell you that."

Bucky gave a faint, fleeting roll of his eyes. "Doesn't work like that."

"Says who?"

When Bucky didn't answer, instead just dropping his eyes back down to stare off with that empty, painful edge in his eyes, Steve decided he couldn't take anymore of it and pulled him into a hug. It surprised him how quickly he melted into it, not merely accepting the comfort but soaking it up like it was his last chance on earth to do it. He didn't hesitate to bury his face in Steve's neck and hang on to him tight, arm curled around his body and hand gripping the top of his shoulder, and Steve didn't begrudge him a moment of it. He needed it too, even if he hadn't known it until that moment.

They laid there silently, the sound of the brisk winds outside the tent the only sound save for their quiet breaths. Steve absently ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, remembering how comforting it was when his mother used to do the same for him whenever he was sick, and as the moments dragged by he felt Bucky relax a little. He thought sleep would come calling but was proven wrong again when Bucky's hand moved down from his shoulder to his arm, sliding down towards his forearm as he grumbled, "Supposed to be smaller."

He spoke the words directly against Steve's neck and it made him shiver a little, tickling him in a pleasant way. "Sorry about that."

He didn't expect Bucky's hand to go under his jacket and touch him there, over his chest while murmuring, "S'weird. Not right."

"... Not exactly filling me up with confidence here," Steve replied, unsure of what was happening and why and it didn't help that nobody had really ever touched him like this, in a sort of curious, mindless way.

"Just miss you," Bucky said, hand stopping its wandering when his arm wrapped around him under the jacket, hugging him back. "Don't like the way people look at you."

Steve was trying not to squirm with each newly spoken word but _damn_ it tickled and it wasn't easy. "Better than the way they used to."

"It's just as bad," Bucky argued. "They just see you for what you can do now. Not like a real person. Not like I do."

"... I know," Steve replied, unable to argue that. There were exceptions, of course - Peggy, the rest of the Commandos, Stark - but for the most part Bucky was right. "But at least I can breathe now."

"Sometimes I can't," Bucky admitted, pushing his face harder into his neck, nose dragging across his skin and thoroughly confusing him. "It's like you got strong and I got weak."

"You're not weak," Steve assured him. "Strongest guy I know. Always have been."

Bucky laughed humorlessly again. "You fucking sap."

"It's true, you jerk," Steve muttered, and the fact that he could feel Bucky grin a little made him feel a bit odd, but not the kind of odd to make him pull away or think on it too hard. It was a nice sort of strange.

But he could only ignore it for so long. Once Bucky started dragging his lips in a way that he sensed was still mindless but was nonetheless enough to make him jolt a little and realize they were bordering on uncharted territory, Steve drew back a little and murmured, "Buck, what are you doing?"

Bucky leaned his head back, breaking the contact and and keeping his eyes closed as he murmured back in complete honesty, "I don't know. Sorry."

Steve stared at him, face peaceful despite his chaotic mind, lips slightly parted and dark lashes contrasting against his cheeks, hair messy on his forehead. "It's okay. Just trying to understand."

"Yeah, me too."

Steve didn't take his eyes off of him, not even when Bucky opened his and something about it made him blush a little bit. They were all tangled arms and even legs, the latter of which Steve hadn't even noticed at first, and they were so close he should have been uncomfortable probably but he wasn't. Nervous suddenly and confused, yes, but not uncomfortable.   
  
Something floated to the murky surface of Steve's mind, something Bucky had said earlier that bothered him enough to come back even in that particular moment. "Do you... do you really think I've changed? That I'm not me anymore?"

"Didn't mean it like that," Bucky replied. "I just mean all of this. War, death, the next fight. It's all either of us know now. They made you this... perfect weapon. But that's not you. You're more than that."

"... I finally feel like I am something," Steve confessed.

"You've always been something," Bucky assured him. "And I'm always gonna know that more than all of 'em."

He said it in a way that seemed almost sad and only served to confuse Steve even more. There was a lot that he didn't understand, a lot that he had a feeling he'd be contemplating for awhile later on, but for now his primary concern was the same as it had been all night. He just wanted to help his best friend, help him feel a little better and get a little bit of peace until morning came and it was time to march back into battle.

Bucky's eyes tripped down from Steve's eyes, wandering lower as he murmured, "I'm glad I'm here, though."

"So am I," Steve replied, aware that Bucky was looking at his lips and unsure of how to process that.

"Somebody's gotta look out for you," he added, voice low and eyes glancing back up. Was he getting closer, too? "I know you sure as hell won't."

Steve was having a hard time breathing rather suddenly, Bucky's arm around him tightening a little and the air starting to feel a lot warmer than it actually was. "... Sorry."

"'Cause I'm not going home without you either," Bucky told him, and Steve felt the words as much as he heard them, the rush of breath so close to his lips that it made every nerve in his body stand on edge. "Fucking punk."

It was then that Steve realized he'd been staring at Bucky's mouth for God only knew how long, cheeks aflame as he looked up and met Bucky's gaze and fell speechless, anxious, frozen in place, no clue what Bucky had just said. "W-what?"

The motion of speaking, of just uttering one little word was enough to close the minuscule gap between them and make their lips brush together, the contact faint and fleeting but somehow monumental in a way Steve couldn't have anticipated. It made Bucky _shudder_ , his eyes rolling shut and body shifting, curling closer as if chasing that tiny little bit of touch with every inch of himself.

" _Steve_..."

The way Bucky murmured his name made Steve almost whimper, the undeniable need and maybe even desperation from Bucky making his head spin. Nothing was making sense and he couldn't think, but maybe that was the whole point. Maybe thinking and logic had their places within life but this simply wasn't one of them.

With that dangerous concept tipping the scales, Steve closed his eyes and decided to simply let go and let the pieces fall where they would. It was no less than Bucky deserved and Steve would ever be one to deny him anything he needed. He just didn't expect the first real, deliberate brush of their lips to hit him like a runaway train.

He didn't know who moved first and he supposed it didn't make a difference. Details like that were irrelevant, silly and minuscule compared to the relief he could somehow feel in Bucky, rolling off him in waves just with a simple, soft, seemingly innocent kiss. It wasn't like when Pvt. Lorraine had kissed him, wasn't like the many kisses he'd witnessed Bucky plant on girl after girl over the years, wasn't like the movies. He wasn't sure how to process it or define it, but there was comfort and sweetness and it warmed them both from the inside out. Whatever that was, whatever caused it, it couldn't be wrong or bad if it made them both feel a little less hollow, a little less alone.

When that first gentle, soft kiss came to and end, Steve opened his eyes and realized they were tangled even more closely together now, chest to chest and Bucky's knee between his and arms holding each other, Steve's hand in Bucky's hair again. Bucky was clutching the front of his uniform under his coat, eyes closed and staying that way, as if he didn't want to open them and chance ruining everything. But only a few seconds passed before he was pulling and tugging Steve closer again, and all he could do was follow and give him what he needed, whatever it might mean.

Steve felt clumsy kissing him, like a stumbling foal to Bucky's galloping stud, but it didn't stop him from trying his best to keep up. Bucky was every bit the skilled kisser a man of his experience should have been, the first gentle, barely-there slip of his tongue making it all feel a little less innocent and a lot more confusing, but Steve couldn't stop it, didn't want to either.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, time ceasing to matter as they sought what comfort they could while they could. Comfort was in harshly limited supply in those days, even more so than decent food and hot running water, and they had to treasure it while they had it. Moments like these, he thought, could be drawn on later and savored more, a way of staying sane and remembering that there was more to life than war. One day it would be over and they could go home again, back to where everything made more sense and war was just a memory, a closed chapter of their lives and no longer the defining point within it.

He believed that they'd get there. And when the perplexingly easy, undeniably emotional kisses eventually faded and left Bucky breathing hard with exertion and God only knew what else, Steve shushed him and brought him in closer, Bucky laying head on his chest and Steve's chin resting atop it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"It's all right, Buck," Steve told him softly, closing his eyes and ignoring his racing heart. "Everything's gonna be fine."

Bucky didn't agree nor disagree, instead closing his eyes too and melting into the embrace once again. He fell quiet, body less tense now and breathing slowly evening out, and Steve was happy - it seemed like he had helped him, like maybe he truly felt a little bit better now, and it only reaffirmed what Steve already knew. He'd do anything to help him, to help Bucky find some peace, and whatever that meant... he'd do it.

"Try to get some sleep now," he murmured, fingers soothing through Bucky's hair again. "Gonna need it for tomorrow when we take Zola down."

Bucky groaned a little bit. "Can't fucking wait." He wasn't being sarcastic. He wanted nothing more than to finally capture the sadistic little bastard who'd tortured him and make him pay for what he'd done.

But those were thoughts they'd save for the morning, when they needed them. For now Steve held Bucky as he drifted back to sleep at last, the nightmares staying away this time as if Steve really was somehow shielding him from them. Steve followed him within seconds, eyes shut and exhaustion finally settling in for good, allowing him a sleep so deep he didn't move a muscle until the sun came up and woke them both far too early.

And in the end, Steve kept his promise. He didn't go home without Bucky. Cold and ice claimed them both and it seemed fitting that way, their fates inextricably linked even in the deceptive guise of death.

 

 

 

 

 

\- [ ] 


End file.
